


Release My Crime

by Wurda



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek Hale Comforts Stiles Stilinski, Derek Has Feelings, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Nogitsune, Nogitsune Effects, Nogitsune Stiles Stilinski, Nogitsune Trauma, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John, Some angst, inappropriate talk, innuendos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-29
Updated: 2015-12-29
Packaged: 2018-05-10 04:25:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5571183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wurda/pseuds/Wurda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He pulled the shivering body closer, offering his warmth and comfort, attempting to ward away the nightmares and waiting for the often bloodcurdling scream that was surely to come. All he could do was hold on, like Stiles was doing, whisper gently to the whimpering boy and pet the side of his neck.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Release My Crime

**Author's Note:**

> Set in season 3B.

His first thought when Stiles hopped into his dad’s police cruiser was ‘wow, this kid is so _unbelievably_ human.’

He flailed and walked around with an unheard of confidence that Derek doubted the kid even knew he was giving off those sort of vibes. Especially when he looked at the fuming wolf through the cage-like barrier separating the two. Big doe eyes connecting head on with his sharp, anger-filled irises and only a tinge of fear hid underneath the boy’s- _boy_ \- scent. It was the first one-on-one interaction Derek had with Stiles that made him think more of him rather than a thing to be shoved to the side.

*

Stiles was human. He _is_ human. He was supposed to stay that way, to never change under any supernatural circumstances, because for god’s sake it’s _Stiles_.

Derek noticed the changes, the constant tiredness the kid wore like Prada, bags signaling sleep deprivation more noticeable than any designer item. Was he worried? Not as much as he should’ve been in the beginning; stress was a common factor among the younger crowd now days, and he knew Stiles had some pretty bad anxiety left over from past traumatic experiences, could sniff it out if he was focusing on Stiles’ scent enough, which is something he tried not to do as often as he found himself doing. Smelling, zeroing in on that unusual, tangy scent.

Derek become involved with Stiles as he was involved with Beacon Hills, both unescapable and homey, something to come back to even if you didn’t want to.

Possession is not something people have ever taken likely, it seems, and Derek was no different. That- that kid he had seen, spoken too, was not his bumbling, occasionally overzealous and optimistic Stiles. It just wasn’t. It smelt off, a muted version of the teenager’s usual underlying arousal and heady spice. He was no longer human, which, for Stiles, was just so, so wrong. It terrified Derek, if he was going to be honest, it made his gut twist as if someone were flipping burgers inside the core of him and using his intestines to make the patties.

He didn’t want to be around him.

It was confusing, especially for a werewolf like Derek, born and raised without ever knowing what it was like to experience humanity. He didn’t like change, in fact, he taught himself to hate it. He taught his instincts exactly what happened when suddenly things became different. Change in his book meant lots of pain, and this time, he was right.

*

Whiskey eyes, free for the moment, flicked around the room. His fear, while easy to see on the outside, was more than he let off, Derek could smell it. Finally alone, again, the two of them, he watched Stiles, as the boy took deep, unsure breaths, scared to _breathe_. Derek yearned to hold him in that moment, but he himself was the unsure one.

It was only when Stiles was at his last resolve, and fuck, Derek was simply supposed to keep an eye on him, but he crumbled, particularly because it was Stiles.

Cupid bow lips quivered and struggled to stay firm and strong, only to be betrayed by expressive honey eyes filling to the brim, unable to contain the wave of a tsunami held for far too long. His sob sounded pathetic, like a baby who had no reason to cry, but it was to its own knowledge exactly what it was screaming for.

Derek knew what Stiles needed.

He was there when he finally shivered and gave in to the storm, crystal tears pouring over the glistening rim of his eyes. Derek caught him, slipping with him to concrete floor of the loft, slid his hands carefully down his shaking back as the boy cried himself into hysterics hidden underneath Derek’s chin and into his chest. He felt the wetness of fluids on his collarbones, dampening his shirt, but he couldn’t care in that moment. He hadn’t held someone like this before, a person who was currently driving himself into a panic attack and gasping for air that wouldn’t fill his begging lungs.

But Derek, he remembers being held when he was in a similar state, by his older sister who must’ve felt the same but had the undying _need_ to take care of her foolish younger brother. She was selfless, even in those times of horrific hardship, and god, Derek was such a _dick_.

He had to be the person he had needed, the one his sister needed, so he hushed Stiles, combed his fingers through the boy’s unruly hair and pushed his sniveling, gasping face into his hot neck. He didn’t say anything aside from shushing Stiles, and rocking his fatigued form until he eventually ended his fit in hiccups and small whines that came from the back of his throat.

He was so human then, and Derek concluded that this is how it was supposed to stay.

*

He pulled the shivering body closer, offering his warmth and comfort, attempting to ward away the nightmares and waiting for the often bloodcurdling scream that was surely to come. All he could do was hold on, like Stiles was doing, whisper gently to the whimpering boy and pet the side of his neck.

His breathing quickened, and Derek had a fleeting thought that maybe he shouldn’t have let Stiles fall asleep- _but he just looked so tired_ \- and then Stiles was yelling, no, screeching in pain that didn’t exist. His body kicked at Derek and arms tried to throw the wolf off of his sickly person and he cried and cried to be released, and it broke a piece of Derek every time he pled.

He pinned pale, thin arms to the bed and held down desperate, wiggling legs with his knees, nearly squishing the body underneath him with his bulk. The objective was to keep Stiles still, but his consciousness told him the objective was to make sure Stiles was _safe_ , to not harm him.

Abruptly, it stopped, Stiles’ heartrate simmered down and his breathing evened. Derek was almost relieved, if it hadn’t all halted so sudden, and he may have believed everything was fine if not for the crawling feeling of being watched.

Deep brown pools drug Derek to look, to see a part of Stiles that wasn’t supposed to be there. The puddles of mud staring him down flashed a nauseating greenish yellow, reflecting the glow of a firefly.

It sent a feeling of dread Derek had become accustomed to down his back and spread through his tense muscles.

Then, the being spoke, sounding revolting coming from Stiles’ precious mouth that had been wailing in complete agony moments before.

“Have this body, Derek,” It spewed, lewdly as it attempted to draw the wolf in. “You want to touch it, don’t you? Taste? Feel him and just _take_.”

It laughed, nothing like the boy existing behind the face, and continued its verbal assault.

“You want to _ruin_ him, kind of like I am now,” it smirked at Derek’s warning growl. “How about this: you don’t have to hold me down, I’ll lay right here and you can explore all you want, give yourself the pleasure that you deserve, you are putting up with him, after all.”

No, no, no, NO. Derek did not want that.

He flashed electric blue eyes in warning, gripping poorly abused wrists harder before realizing that somewhere, Stiles still occupied this body. The nogitsune continued to taunt, bribe, but all Derek could hear was filth. Things about ravishing him, taking innocence that was rightfully his.

It made Derek physically sick, because no, Stiles was not an object, you don’t just _play_ with him, he was not Derek’s chore, and definitely not a fucking burden.

But Derek stayed silent as the spirit continued to use Stiles as a puppet, and sometime in the early hours of the morning, the possessed boy went limp.

*

“I remember.” Came his voice, devoid of evil spirit. Derek blinked, brow furrowing.

“You were there, when it took over, and I remember.”

Stiles lay in the hospital bed, blue, black, purple, red, yellow, everything, covering his skin in marks and bruises. He sounded worn out, like he was down to his last breath, even though Derek had just gotten him back. He needed time to recover. Perhaps, both of them.

“Stiles-” But he couldn’t finish his sentence. He sat in the chair to the side, the one the sheriff had just occupied, and sank down, letting his expression fall open and letting Stiles _see_.

Those doe-like eyes peered inquisitively, wanting to understand. He wanted words.

Derek swallowed once, long and adding to his bashfully red face.

“You just, you- you _affect_ me, Stiles.”

It was good enough for the boy-man-and he smiled, clean and relieved, not just because he finally had his head all to himself, but probably planning some way to get Derek to admit all of his secrets.

And he would spill them all, as long as he could gaze at those bright orbs quickly filling with new light.

**Author's Note:**

> Have some angst. Well, a little. Haven't really read a lot of Nogitsune Stiles fics, so I have no idea if this is like anything else someone might have written. I write, like, a lot, but this is my first post on AO3. Tell me what you think, lovelies.
> 
> Written listening to:  
> 9 Crimes by: Damien Rice  
> &  
> When We’re Fire (Cello Version) by: Lo-Fang  
> &  
> Mad World by: Jasmine Thompson


End file.
